


His Detective

by whichrealityisthis



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Ice Cream, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 15:35:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichrealityisthis/pseuds/whichrealityisthis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is in bed with a cold. Sherlock tries to make him feel better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Detective

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for my Sang. We challenged each other to write JL ice cream fics. (Hope you like it <3)

John was in bed with a cold again. Sherlock supposed it was his fault for dragging him to that campsite murder scene in the rain two nights ago. Still, his conscience wasn’t pricking him too much. John had wanted to stay home and watch the reboot of Doctor Who. Even Sherlock knew it wasn’t as good as the original series.

But he felt he had to do something to make ammends, so he did what seemed somewhat appropriate: he made soup. Not from scratch, of course. John would have to be crazy to think that Sherlock was feeling that guilty. The cheap packet stuff would do just fine.

He opened the door to one kitchen cabinet after another till he found the little rectangular boxes he was looking for. There were two: Cauliflower & Brocolli, and Hot & Sour Chicken. Sherlock chose the latter. He guessed the spicyness would do John some good.

He put some water on the stove to boil, then emptied a packet of soup powder into a bowl, added the water, chose a spoon, and wrapping the bowl clumsily in a dishcloth, took it upstairs to his doctor. With some annoyance at himself, Sherlock registered that he had mentally just called John “his doctor”.

When he nudged open the door to John’s bedroom, Sherlock found him right in the middle of a violent fit of sneezing. Sherlock winced at the thought of all those germs in the air. When John finally emerged from behind the great wad of tissues he was holding, his nose was a bright red and his eyes were watering.

“Oh, hi, Sherlock”, John sniffed.

Sherlock warily approached him and held out the bowl. “I made soup.”

“Ah, cheers, mate. Thanks.” John took the bowl and peered into it, bleary-eyed. “Oh, good, it’s the Hot & Sour. That cauliflower thing was bloody awful.” He waded the spoon around a few times in the steaming liquid while Sherlock went to open the windows.

“It’s got lumps”, he heard John say.

Sherlock turned around to face him, incredulous.

“You know, you’ve got to give the packet a good shake before you add the water.” John was now prodding fruitlessly at lumps of powder which were bobbing around on the surface of the soup.

Sherlock folded his arms and glared at John. “Would you like me to try again?”, he said, his voice dripping with indignation. John couldn’t help smirking at the expression on Sherlock’s face. He knew how much he must hate having to take on the role of housekeeper, but reveled a little in it anyway.

John managed a short chuckle before it turned into a rasping cough. “No, no, this is great. Thank you. You know what else I’d like, though?”

“Crackers and croutons?”, Sherlock snapped.

“Ice cream.”

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. “Ice cream? While you have a cold?”

“Yes, it makes my throat feel better. Please?”

Sherlock looked at John sitting there in the midst of a bundle of blankets, his hair dishevelled, his skin flushed from a fever. He felt a strange impulse to crawl into bed and huddle next to him. How could he refuse this crazy, lovely man, even if he wanted ice cream at a time like this?

Sherlock’s lips curled into a half-smile. “Actually, I could go for some ice cream myself”, he said. John grinned.

A while later, as John sat in bed, reading, he heard the sound of rain, and looked up to see fat raindrops gliding down the windowpane. “Uh-oh”, he thought to himself, as he pulled the balnkets closer around him.

When Sherlock returned with a large paper bag in his arms, his hair was damp. Just as he set the bag down on a stool and started pulling out the plastic tubs of ice cream, he let out a great, thundering sneeze. He stood there for a moment, dazed, then shook his head as if trying to shake off the impending cold.  
John burst out laughing, which promptly morphed into a wheeze. He was soon out of breath, but still continued chuckling as his sour-faced detective pulled up a chair, opened up the containers and served out big scoops of ice cream into bowls. “His detective”, John realized with a smile, was what he had just called Sherlock.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are most welcome! :)


End file.
